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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548617">the devil you know</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizMikaelson/pseuds/LizMikaelson'>LizMikaelson</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltziepark/pseuds/saltziepark'>saltziepark</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Legacies (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:15:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizMikaelson/pseuds/LizMikaelson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltziepark/pseuds/saltziepark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Penelope tilts her head, her gaze traveling over Hope in a way that feels oddly unnerving, before her expression shifts into a smirk. “You know what they say about girlfriends who slay together?”</p><p>“We didn’t slay anything.”</p><p>Which should not be the point she is focused on, as she’s very well aware when Penelope’s smirk turns into a grin. “But you know what they say?”</p><p>Hope rolls her eyes. “We’re not dating. We’re not even sleeping together.”</p><p>Penelope raises an eyebrow, daunting, daring. “We could be.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hope Mikaelson/Penelope Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Henelope Endgame</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the devil you know</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She leaves Alaric behind and walks into the common room. Tonight has been horrible, and concern for the twins is still coursing through her veins. She should go take a shower, probably, and get out of this damn dress. </p><p>Or maybe go for a run. </p><p>She looks out the window and into the woods and everything is strangely peaceful now as if it hadn’t been the location of a zombie attack hours ago. “Back to howling at the moon?” a voice drawls behind her and she spins around. </p><p>“Penelope,” she says, crossing her arms under her chest. They’re not friends. Not enemies either. Allies, maybe. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>Penelope tilts her head, her gaze traveling over Hope in a way that feels oddly unnerving, before her expression shifts into a smirk. “You know what they say about girlfriends who slay together?”</p><p>“We didn’t slay anything.” </p><p>Which should not be the point she is focused on, as she’s very well aware when Penelope’s smirk turns into a grin. “But you know what they say?”</p><p>Hope rolls her eyes. “We’re not dating. We’re not even sleeping together.”</p><p>Penelope raises an eyebrow, daunting, daring. “We could be.”</p><p>Hope has never thought of herself as someone who is easily tempted, but right now, right here, in this moment, she understands just why Penelope Park has half the school wrapped around her little finger. </p><p>She waits for Penelope to laugh, break the tension, walk away, but the other witch doesn’t move an inch, just stands there, staring Hope down. </p><p>The kiss she pulls Penelope into is bruising, messy, just like they are, maybe. She doesn’t ask Penelope where she had been moments ago. Doesn’t remark that Penelope’s lips are already kiss-swollen. Or maybe that’s just how they always are. Definitely doesn’t remark that Penelope tastes suspiciously like the cherry lip gloss Caroline brings back from Paris that she had stolen from Josie one summer. It doesn’t matter. </p><p>What matters is that Penelope’s hands grip her hips, fisting in the red silk of her dress, pulling her closer. </p><p>“Pen—”</p><p>“Are you going to ruin this by talking?” Penelope nearly growls against her lips. And here Hope thought she was the one with fire inside of her, a hunger that could not be satisfied. </p><p>When she shoves Penelope against the worn leather couch, pulling the skirt of her dress out of the way to straddle her, Penelope’s eyes grow wide, her pupils blown. They stay there for a while, moving against each other. Penelope’s fingers ghost across her lips to stifle a moan because Alaric or any teacher could stumble in at any moment, but the rest of the school stays silent as Hope falls apart under Penelope’s hands. </p><p>She returns the favor, kneeling before the sofa, her knees digging into the old rug as she eats Penelope out, her back arching off of the leather. They don’t linger when it’s over and Hope is thankful for that. She takes one look at Penelope who smirks and winks terribly, the marks on her neck bright red against olive skin. </p><p>Hope thinks she enjoyed marking Penelope Park like that. She thinks she would like to do it again sometime. </p><p>“I needed three concealing charms,” Penelope says the next morning, sitting down next to her. Hope had been enjoying a very nice quiet breakfast, consisting of strawberry yogurt and black coffee. </p><p>She nearly spills the coffee down her shirt. </p><p>“You started it,” is all Hope says as Penelope grabs a bowl of fruit, stabbing a piece of banana with more force than was warranted at seven in the morning. </p><p>“I did, didn’t I?” Penelope says, sighing sweetly as if she was reminiscing. “Wanna do it again?” </p><p>“No,” Hope says, more than a little disgruntled. <em> Yes</em>, is all she thinks. <em> Yes</em>. If her spoon bends a little in her hand, she quickly hides it from Penelope, grabbing a new one. </p><p>Penelope shakes her head, the smile still on her face. “You’re a terrible liar. I’ll wear you down eventually, Mikaelson.”</p><hr/><p>Hope holds out for ten hours (something she deserves a prize for, she thinks) before she’s knocking on Penelope’s door. </p><p>“Enter,” Penelope says and Hope opens the door to see Penelope lying casually on top of her bed, swiping her hand in the air as she magically turns the pages of a textbook, a pen balanced over a notebook next to her, scribbling notes of its own accord. </p><p>“You actually study?” Hope can’t believe what she’s seeing. She thought that Penelope merely went to class as a means to an end. As a way for her to keep up appearances while she plotted whatever the hell she plotted. World domination or whatever. </p><p>With a wave of Penelope’s hand, the book snaps shut, drifting to Penelope’s desk. “Knowledge is power, Mikaelson. You’re descended from a dynasty of supervillains, you should know this.”</p><p>“And some of us can’t get by on our good looks alone,” Penelope adds, sitting up. Hope follows one of Penelope’s curls as it disappears into her blouse, the top two buttons unbuttoned, revealing olive skin and the barest hint of dark blue lace. </p><p>Moving her eyes back even with Penelope’s, the witch smirks, then settles down on the bed more fully, her head in her hand and her free hand rubbing the space on the comforter next to her. </p><p>“What are you doing?” </p><p>“Why are you here, Hope?” Penelope answers her question with a question and Hope realizes she’s just inside the doorway, rooted to the spot. She couldn’t tell Penelope exactly why she was there, apart from the fact that Penelope’s words had been echoing in her mind all through class that day, her feet dragging her of her own accord toward the witch’s room. </p><p>“I was —”</p><p>“Bored? Horny? Stressed out? All of the above? You’ve come to the right place.” </p><p>“Does that work on anyone?” </p><p>“You tell me.” Penelope sits up again, unbuttoning her blouse slowly. The dark blue lace bra comes fully into view then and Hope feels like she’s been doused in gasoline and lit on fire. She pulls it off of her shoulders, tossing it to the floor with a flourish. </p><p>“I loathe you.” </p><p>“I’m not sure that’s true. You’re here, aren’t you?” </p><p>Hope moves (finally) and walks over to the bed, grabbing Penelope by the throat, Penelope’s hands settling on her wrist. But she isn’t afraid. Her eyes are calculating, studying, watching, and waiting for Hope’s next move. They stand there for ten seconds, fifteen, before Penelope tugs on the hand at her wrist and Hope is hovering above her, their lips centimeters apart. </p><p>Hope wishes that she didn’t melt into the feeling of Penelope’s lips on hers, the hand that had been around Penelope’s throat moving to the back of her neck to pull her into her more fully. </p><p>She fucks Penelope without another word, tearing through Penelope’s skirt in her haste to get Penelope undressed as quickly as possible. She leaves Penelope’s room after it’s over, after Penelope took her sweet time taking her apart, building Hope up and bringing her to the edge before stopping more than once. Hope thinks Penelope just wanted her to beg, to growl (which she did) until she finally gave in and took her over the edge. </p><p>Hope doesn’t like to think about the fact that Penelope’s free hand was holding one of hers as she came, the touch soft and sure and grounding.</p><hr/><p>When the Necromancer is chained up in the dungeons, she goes to see him. Perks of being the hero and all. </p><p>She gets distracted, caught up in the memories of her family, caught up in all the things that aren’t real, and the knife is destroyed and the Necromancer free and Hope knows that she’s screwed everything up, so she fucks Penelope against the shelves of the library, her face buried in the crook of Penelope’s neck, sucking marks into the soft skin and listening to Penelope’s quiet gasps as books fall to the floor around them. </p><p>She leaves while Penelope is still smoothing down her skirt, and to her relief, the other witch doesn’t stop her, doesn’t say a word about the tear tracks on Hope’s face.</p><hr/><p>For most of the night, she tosses and turns, restless and far too awake. The blue stone of her bracelet lights up during the middle of the night and she feels strangely relieved. Anything to get out of here, to get away from the memory of her father lingering behind every corner. </p><p>The keys are in her hand, and she’s halfway out there. “And here I thought we slew things together,” Penelope’s voice rings out from behind her. </p><p>Hope spins around, the keys held out. “What are you - how are you even -”</p><p>“Just a little bit of magic,” Penelope says, walking past her and plucking the keys out from between her fingers. “Where are we going?”</p><p>She remains frozen in place until Penelope has reached the door. “You’re not coming.”</p><p>“Can you even drive, Mikaelson?”</p><p>No. Fuck. Maybe she could figure it out. “Fine.”</p><p>Twenty minutes later, she regrets her decision. “So why exactly are we rescuing your half-wit hobbit?” Penelope questions. “Is this a savior complex or do you have a cruuuuush?”</p><p>“What’s it to you?” Hope asks sharply. A deflection. She knew it. Penelope knew it too. </p><p>“I would love to know if I’m risking my life for the emu because you think you’re his soulmate or because you’re an idiot who responds to a crisis by diving headfirst into the fight, no questions asked.” </p><p>“I didn’t ask you to come.” </p><p>“So it’s all for romance then. Not some misguided sense of duty?” Penelope takes her eyes off of the road then, sweeping them over Hope. She can feel Penelope’s gaze even in the darkness. It makes the car feel smaller, suffocating. “You can do better.”</p><p>“You, you mean?” </p><p>“I never said that.” </p><p>Hope stares ahead, into the dark road stretching out in front of him. “I gave Landon what he needed to find his mother. If he’s in danger, it’s because I put him in danger.”</p><p>“Savior complex,” Penelope says, “I knew it.”</p><p>Hope rolls her eyes.</p><hr/><p>They stop at a motel on the side of the road and Hope watches Penelope hold her breath as they make their way over the threshold. It’s not <em> that </em> bad, even if the one bed looked like it had once held a very dead body on it, if the stains were anything to go by. </p><p>“We’re sharing,” Penelope decrees loudly and Hope wishes she wasn’t excited about the prospect, even as a cockroach skitters underneath the television stand. Hope decides to not tell Penelope about the many-legged friends they would be sharing this room with for the night. </p><p>Penelope casts half a dozen charms anyway, as soon as they’re in the room, which makes the situation a little better, though not by much. It still smells like mold and the bed creaks as Hope lays down on it, pulling the comforter back and off the bed as she magicks a clean one for them. </p><p>“Romantic,” Penelope remarks from the bathroom, her electric toothbrush whirring loudly. Any other person and the act of brushing their teeth would be comical even, but there’s something about the way Penelope stands there with her arms crossed over her chest in a Salvatore gym shirt and shorts that makes Hope’s cheeks flush. </p><p>“Keep staring, Mikaelson,” Penelope says, her mouth white from the toothpaste as she turns to spit into the sink and rinse her face and hands. </p><p>She walks gingerly across the crusty carpet and wrinkles her nose before getting into bed, keeping her distance from Hope. The chasm between them on the bed feels large, even if Hope was certain that the bed was queen-sized. </p><p>Penelope turns toward Hope in the darkness, her hands underneath her head, and Hope notes the way Penelope’s eyes shine in the moonlight filtering in through the blinds. </p><p>“Where are we going, Hope? What’s the play here?” </p><p>“We drive until we find him,” Hope replies shortly and says nothing more. She hears Penelope’s breathing even out after about twenty minutes (not that she’s been counting) and thinks that maybe she’s too anxious to sleep, but it finally, finally, finally comes. </p><p>She wakes as the scream bursts from her lips, but if truth be told, she knew she had been screaming long before that. The sheets are wrapped around her and her shirt is stuck to her skin and her hair to her forehead and Penelope is there, sitting up in the darkness, a hand at her shoulder. </p><p>“Hope, Hope —” Penelope’s voice is far away and the dream had been so real. She had been at the bar again, her father had just come through the door but his eyes were black and his mouth was dripping with blood and where his heart should have been, a gaping hole existed. “— Hope, listen to me.” </p><p>There’s something calming about the low timbre of Penelope’s voice, the mantra of <em> you’re here, it wasn’t real </em> dropping from her lips. Her arm is wrapped around Hope’s shoulder, and with every second, the images from her dreams dissipate further. </p><p>She’s about to storm out the room and drive herself all the way out of here, because she doesn’t do this, sharing a bed and confiding in Penelope Park, of all people, about her dreams. </p><p>“It felt real.”</p><p>“That’s the power of dreams, right? They feel real and for just a moment, you’re stuck in a life that isn’t your own. But you’re here, with me, Hope.”</p><p>“A comforting thought,” Hope chuckles mirthlessly. </p><p>Penelope sighs, taking her free hand and running it through Hope’s hair, from her temple to behind her ear. “My mom used to always do this when I couldn’t sleep. Something about her hands in my hair, scratching my scalp. It always calmed me.” </p><p>It’s goddamn relaxing and Hope sinks into the feeling, Penelope’s hands sliding through her hair. She finds herself laying nearly on Penelope’s stomach now, unsure of how they got this way and one of Hope’s hands finds its way to the hem of Penelope’s shirt and under. Her eyes are closed and her heart is beating steady in her chest as her hand moves higher up Penelope’s stomach, reaching and grabbing to palm Penelope’s breast. </p><p>Penelope’s hand tightens in her hair, a low gasp escaping her lips. “Hope,” she exhales, breathless. And it’s too simple, really, the way Hope turns her head slightly and Penelope’s lips are there. She can’t help herself as she pushes into the kiss, breathing Penelope in and grabbing at her breast. Penelope moans then, into Hope’s mouth and that sets something off in Hope, who climbs more fully onto Penelope’s lap, pushing her against the headboard. </p><p>She tears at Penelope’s shirt, nearly ripping it in her haste to get it off, to get to skin and leave her mark. </p><p>“Fuck, Hope.” </p><p>“That’s the idea,” she smirks into the kiss, running her hands over every inch of exposed skin. The Salvatore shirt lands on the ground beside them, the gym shorts going next, and Hope kisses Penelope, licking into her mouth. Every time they do this, she feels like it’s a thousand fires ignited between them and the rest of the world could be burning for all she cares because she’s bursting into flames with every swipe of Penelope’s tongue across hers. </p><p>The dream is quickly forgotten and perhaps that’s all for the best. She doesn’t want to be thinking of her father, ill at rest, when she moves down the length of Penelope’s body, lips trailing after fingers, pausing to bite at her hip bones, her navel, the tops of her thighs before she spreads Penelope’s legs wide, as wide as she can, grabbing under her ass and pulling her toward her mouth. </p><p>Her demons have always proven difficult to escape, but it’s shockingly easy when Penelope’s hands are tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, her body arching towards Hope and a string of curses escaping from her lips as Hope’s lips wrap around her clit. </p><p>Two orgasms later, Penelope is stretched out across the pillows, her chest heaving and flushed, and Hope thinks, fleetingly, that she looks absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. Freshly fucked and sweaty, her cheeks red. </p><p>“I like how you cope with nightmares, Mikaelson, but you’re not going to be the only top around here.”</p><p>Hope comes three times before they fall asleep wrapped around each other. This time, her dreams are free of nightmares.</p><hr/><p>Penelope makes Hope buy her breakfast because she’s “not chauffeuring for free,” and Hope sighs and rolls her eyes and really, really enjoys her waffles. </p><p>She calls Alaric once they’re back in the car, and he complains and complains, and Hope finally has enough. “I’m taking a mental health day with my friend,” she says, “which is exactly what you’ve always told me to do.”</p><p>He concedes, and the moment Hope sees Penelope’s face, smirk in place, she decides that winning this argument so wasn’t worth it. “Friends?” Penelope questions. </p><p>“I didn’t think he’d calm down much if I told him I was taking my stalker on a cross-country road trip.”</p><p>Penelope gaps in mock offense. “And here I thought we had something magical, Wolfie.”</p><p>“Don’t call me that.” </p><p>“You called me a stalker so I figured we were playing the fake name game.” </p><p>“You are a stalker, Penelope.” </p><p>“I prefer the term interested party, Hope.”</p><hr/><p>They find Landon in another, possibly even dingier motel, with his mom and a very ghastly water monster. </p><p>They blow the monster to bits and Penelope grins at her with a raised eyebrow. “Told you. Slaying together works.” Hope ignores this, ignores the rush through her stomach when Penelope tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with such care that it nearly makes her cry.  </p><p>Landon decides to stay with his mother, and in another life, that might have hurt Hope, but in this one, it doesn’t. Seylah seems more than a little irritated by that, but it’s not really Hope’s problem and she tells them what she knows about Malivore. </p><p>She feels surprisingly at peace on the drive back to school, Penelope’s hand, the one not on the steering wheel, resting on her leg. She intertwines their hands, just because, and ignores the smile on Penelope’s lips. She’s become quite good at this - ignoring things about Penelope, but they all come rushing back to her when they make it back to school. </p><p>Hope isn’t ready to say goodbye to Penelope, but can’t, won’t, verbalize that because <em> feelings </em>so she lingers by Penelope’s door, running through at least fifteen conversations in her head before settling on one. </p><p>“Ice cream?” </p><p>“I have a better idea,” Penelope replies, and pulls Hope in by the collar of her shirt. She smacks against the door as it closes and the next hour is filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing mixed together, punctuated by moans and curses. Hope falls asleep in Penelope’s bed, an arm slung across Penelope’s back, and wakes up as the sun shines through the window the next morning, falling across her face. </p><p>Outside, she can hear a car pulling up, but she can’t bring herself to care, not with Penelope here, warm and soft and curled up against her. Life can wait.</p>
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